


One Wedding and No Funeral

by Morgane (smilla840)



Category: Casino Royale (2006)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-15
Updated: 2012-07-15
Packaged: 2017-11-10 00:23:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/460182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smilla840/pseuds/Morgane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Villiers needs a bodyguard. Guess who gets volunteered?</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Wedding and No Funeral

John Villiers was having a very bad week. 

On Monday his flat was broken into. Which meant he then had to spend hours locked in a room with two security officers who were somehow convinced he kept sensitive material at his home – which he did _not_ , thank you very much; he adhered strictly to the security protocols – and that those same inexistent documents had been stolen during the break-in. 

Ridiculous. 

In the end M came and rescued him, demanding that they stop this non-sense and give her her aide back right this instant, making it sound like she couldn’t do her very important work without him and that the safety of the Kingdom was at stake.

Villiers loved his boss.

Of course it worked: when M said something people tended to listen. Well, except Bond. But that was Bond.

On Tuesday the man in question created yet another diplomatic incident, from scratch this time and in Russia of all places. Villiers found himself fielding calls from everyone who was anyone – PM’s office, Foreign Affairs, Treasury (don’t ask)… Even their MI5 liaison called, spending the two minutes Villiers had reluctantly agreed to give him barely holding back snickers and so Villiers hung up on him – politely. They were old friends, Josh would get over it. 

Villiers then spent the rest of the day trying to placate M, arrange Bond’s trip home – the man would travel in coach for once, it wouldn’t kill him – and sort out the crisis itself when he should have been worrying about changing his locks. By the time the situation was under wraps and Bond back on English soil, grounded until further notice, every respectable locksmith in London was closed. 

Typical.

On Wednesday someone tried to kill him. Or maybe they were trying to kidnap him, Villiers was a little fuzzy on the details – it wasn’t every day someone waved a gun in his face. 

He had been leaving work and walking towards the tube when two masked men ran up to him carrying a gun – causing some panic among the other pedestrians – and tried to drag him away.

Now, Villiers may be an administrative but he wasn’t helpless: he had completed his training according to regulations and reflexes did kick in. He would have liked to say that he had managed to free himself and incapacitate both attackers on his own but sadly that wouldn’t be quite accurate. 

As things stood he had taken one down before the other had sent him sprawling and the only reason he was still around to tell the tale was because his attackers had been stupid enough – or confident enough? – to pull off their stunt in front of the MI6 headquarters: the guards had seen the whole thing on the security feeds and came to his rescue. 

Villiers sure would have been glad to see them if he hadn’t passed out from a blow to the head.

He came to in the medical centre, a pounding headache immediately making itself known as he squinted against the harsh lights. He took a minute to gather his thoughts and assess the various aches of his body – nothing broken, as far as he could tell, although his head sure felt like it – before focusing outwards on his surroundings.

To his right he could hear M pestering the doctor on call and so he turned his head in her direction – immediately regretting it when a wave of nausea hit him. They both stopped talking when they realized he was awake and the doctor rushed forward to examine him, looking pathetically grateful for the excuse to escape M’s questioning.

He quickly declared that Villiers had a concussion and, given his bout of unconsciousness, would be kept overnight for observation. He then beat a hasty retreat, leaving Villiers to fend off his boss – which was grossly unfair. _He_ was the wounded one, here!

M turned towards him, a none-too-pleased look on her face.

“I’m assigning you a protection detail,” she said and Villiers mentally groaned.

“Is that really necessary?” he asked and found himself bearing the brunt of her glare.

“Of course it’s _necessary_! Your apartment was broken into and now someone’s tried to kidnap you!” She waited until Villiers looked chastised enough before going on. “I will have something arranged by tomorrow. You requested a personal day on Friday, am I correct?”

She looked vaguely disgruntled at that – it was true Villiers hadn’t accustomed her to taking days off. He had even come in with the flu once and done his job – not as efficiently as usual, granted – until she had gotten annoyed with the constant coughing and ordered him home before he contaminated everyone in the building, leaving Britain to fall prey to her enemies.

“It’s my sister’s wedding,” he offered and M nodded briskly.

“Quite right. I will take it into consideration.” She paused for a moment, looking down at him, before awkwardly patting his shoulder in what was probably meant to be a comforting gesture – it was hard to tell sometimes with M. “Do get some rest.” She added before turning on her heel and striding out of the room, leaving Villiers feeling a little bemused.

 

He was at his desk on time the next day, a faint headache keeping him distracted. Therefore he wasn’t in the best of moods when Bond showed up unexpectedly to see M. He wasn’t listed in the appointment book and Villiers rubbed his temples as Bond made a nuisance of himself, shuffling through the files on his desk and poking at his things.

“You look like hell,” Bond finally declared and before Villiers could snap something back at him M stuck her head out of her office.

“Good, you’re here,” M said. “Get in here – you too, Villiers.”

Five minutes later both men were staring at her with similar expressions of disbelief and horror etched on their faces.

“You can’t be serious,” Bond blurted out and for once Villiers found himself agreeing with him wholeheartedly.

“I am perfectly serious. Bond, you’re the only agent available –” The pointed look she sent him made it clear she hadn’t forgotten _why_ he was available, “– and Villiers needs a protection detail. You’re it.”

“Surely a 00 isn’t necessary,” Villiers tried to interject, Bond nodding alongside him.

M’s eyes narrowed and Villiers knew he was doomed. “Need I remind you national security is at stake here?”

Bond snorted and M’s fury found a new target. “Something you want to add, Bond?”

The man blinked at her. “Oh, come on! He’s your secretary!”

Villiers was careful not to react to the jibe, schooling his features to remain impassive – it was, after all, a favourite of Bond’s – but he couldn’t help feeling insulted. Luckily so did M.

“My secretary’s office is two doors down the hall,” she snapped. “Villiers is my aide – most of what I know, he knows. If anything happens to him, I’ll make sure you spend the rest of your very short employment with this institution behind a desk – do I make myself clear?”

Bond nodded, looking mildly condescending – and not at all chastised.

“Go pack a bag, you’ll pick him up this evening. Now get going, we have important work to do.”

Villiers gritted his teeth and went to fetch his files, carefully avoiding meeting Bond’s eyes on the way out.

M was evil.

 

Bond showed up at six, plopping himself in one of the chairs in front of Villiers’s desk.

“You almost done?” he asked and Villiers nodded distractedly, focused on his screen. 

Bond was quiet for once and eventually Villiers forgot he was there, concentrating on his work and typing his recommendations for M to read. Then 005 called from Colombia, needing some information for his current assignment. By the time Villiers hung up, it was pushing 9 o’clock and he yawned, rubbing his eyes tiredly. The headache was back and he was absently rooting for one of the pills the doctor had given him when Bond cleared his throat, reminding him of his presence and making him jump in his chair by the same occasion.

“Done yet?” Bond said with an amused look on his face and Villiers nodded, fighting back an embarrassed blush. “Good, I’m hungry.”

They got take-out on their way to Villiers’s flat – Bond had tried to argue it would be safer to go back to his but Villiers had put his foot down. After the last couple of days he needed the familiarity of his own home. Besides, he still had to pack for his extended week-end. Which of course led to informing Bond they would be attending his sister’s wedding for the next three days. He didn’t like the gleam in Bond’s eyes at the news.

Not one bit.

And so by noon on Friday Villiers and Bond found themselves in Cambridge, standing in front of Villiers’s childhood home. They had agreed – after a rather absurd conversation – to introduce Bond as a friend visiting from overseas who had tagged along to visit the British countryside. Bond had been most unhelpful on the matter, his suggestions ranging from ‘driver’ to ‘secretary’. Villiers had found himself having to suppress a smile at a few of the more colourful ones – Bond certainly didn’t need any encouragement – but from the smug look on the other man’s face he must not have been totally successful.

“My sister’s name is Emma,” Villiers remembered to tell him as he rang the bell and Bond grinned.

“I know,” he said and Villiers opened his mouth to ask him how exactly he knew that when the door opened and there stood his sister.

“John!” she squealed, throwing her arms around his neck in an enthusiastic hug. “I’m getting married!”

Against all odds – considering his present predicament – Villiers found himself chuckling softly as he returned the embrace.

“So I hear,” he said, letting go when she took a step back and immediately focused her attention on the man next to him. 

Of course.

“You didn’t say you were bringing your boyfriend!” she said with a bright smile and Villiers froze, his eyes widening in horror. The boyfriend she was referring to had only lasted a couple of months and that had been six months ago. He had only told his sister – and, by extension, his entire family – about him in order to avoid further nagging about his personal life – or lack thereof –, and when that strategy had proved successful, he had omitted to keep her in the loop when they had broken things off after a rather painful discussion on Villiers’s work hours.

Thinking back now, maybe he should have said something.

Villiers opened his mouth to correct her but Bond beat him to it, wrapping his arm around his waist and pulling him close against his side.

“I’m James,” he said with a charming smile, taking Emma’s hand and kissing it old-fashionably. “And you must be the lovely bride.”

Emma turned bright red, giggling like a teenage girl, and Villiers managed to overcome his state of shock long enough to elbow Bond in the ribs. Hard.

The man didn’t even flinch.

“Well, come in,” Emma finally managed upon recovering her senses. “I’m so glad to finally meet you, James,” she added, shooting Villiers a look that was both scolding and gleeful.

He rolled his eyes at her – he knew how Bond looked. He wasn’t blind. And he may – or may not – have had something of an infatuation for the other man at some point – it went with the job, from what he understood, and was a thing of the past, thank God. Because Villiers was also very aware of Bond’s track record – with both men and women – and he liked his job too much to jeopardize it. For all of Bond’s flirting – and yes, his usual abrasiveness _was_ flirting, Villiers wasn’t that blind – the man was only interested in one-night stands.

Villiers wasn’t.

He jerked back to the present when Bond laid a possessive hand on his lower back, guiding him inside.

“You know how Vi- John is.” The man was saying, smiling at Emma winningly. “Always working…”

“Oh believe me, I know! Why don’t you two drop your bags in your room and come down to meet the parents?” she said and Villiers decided it was time he took control of the situation again.

“We’ll do that,” he said shortly, stepping away from Bond’s hand and stalking away.

“I can’t believe you hit on my sister!” he hissed as soon as they were out of sight and immediately wanted to smack himself for bringing that up first. “And what do you think you’re doing?!” he added belatedly, glaring at Bond for all he was worth.

The look on Bond’s face was a picture of wounded innocence and Villiers had to grit his teeth and remind himself he couldn’t hit a 00. 00s killed people. And his sister would hate him forever if he ruined her wedding.

“Look, it’s perfect,” Bond said, suddenly serious. “If they believe I’m your lover they won’t think twice about it if I stay close to you all the time. Or would you rather tell them I’m your bodyguard for the week-end because someone tried to _kill you_?”

Villiers grudgingly had to admit that made sense.

Then he remembered his room only had one bed and they were obviously expected to share.

This was going to be hell.

 

Introductions went well, considering that Bond wasn’t really his boyfriend and they didn’t even get along most of the time. His mother and Emma bombarded ‘James’ with questions – how had the two of them met? How long had they been together? What did James do for a living? Oh, was it terribly exciting? – while his father didn’t say much at all.

Business as usual in the Villiers household.

John sat through it with a strained smile, listening to Bond invent them a relationship and charm his family in the process. He tried to act as if it wasn’t all news to him and hoped his family would chalk up his discomfort to his usual privacy issues. In the end the bell came to his rescue, cutting short a – remarkably truthful – story about the two of them at work. Bond tensed at the sound, surreptitiously angling his body sideway to position himself between Villiers and the door. There was no trace of the man who had just been telling jokes in his demeanour now, a cold and focused stranger in his stead, and Villiers found himself tensing as well, reminded of the fact that Bond wasn’t just there to make him squirm.

“That’ll be Ben,” Emma said with a wide smile, jumping to her feet. “He went to the station to pick his parents up.”

Bond didn’t stand down until it was confirmed that it was indeed the future groom and in-laws at the door. Only then did he melt back into the couch, throwing a lazy arm over Villiers’s shoulders while the two families greeted each other. John faked a smile and forced himself to relax against him, playing his part. 

It wasn’t that hard, actually.

 

Lunch was thankfully uneventful, the talking centred mostly on the upcoming wedding. Over dessert Bond – James, John had to remember to call him James – struck up a conversation with his father, asking him about his classes at the university and ignoring the wide-eyed stare John threw his way.

“Did you hack into my personnel file?” he hissed as they carried dirty dishes back to the kitchen.

“Now why would you think that?” Bond asked innocently and Villiers had to quell his homicidal urges and remind himself the man had a gun.

He was soon distracted by hordes of relatives and friends swarming into the house, wanting to see the happy couple one last time before the ceremony that would take place the next morning. John shook hands and kissed cheeks for what felt like hours, saying the same trite banalities over and over again to people he hadn’t seen in a decade. How many people had Emma invited anyway?

It was exhausting. 

“I’m never getting married,” he muttered when the flow of people finally ebbed, leaning back against the nearest wall for support.

James – Bond – _James_ laughed, winding their fingers together. All afternoon he had stood next to him, playing the dutiful boyfriend and scanning the crowd for potential threats. He would occasionally ruffle John’s hair or bump into him, and Villiers’s accompanying glares had grown less and less heated as the afternoon wore on. In fact he had found himself leaning into the touches and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t make himself stop.

That crush? Might not be a thing of the past after all.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m not marrying kind,” James whispered in John’s ear. His words and accompanying grin had the effect of a cold shower, dragging Villiers back to reality with the almost unwelcomed reminder that this was all an act – but damn, why did the man have to be such a good actor? 

“Now, who is _that_?” Bond asked, nodding towards the door.

Villiers turned around, glad for the distraction even if it came in the form of a potential hitman, and a disbelieving smile broke on his face.

What was Joshua doing here?

Wrenching his hand away from Bond’s he stepped forward to meet the newcomer and immediately found himself engulfed in a bear hug. When they broke apart Josh held him at arm’s length, looking him over with a critical eye, and John allowed it with an amused shake of his head.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, out loud this time, and Josh grinned.

“Emma invited me.”

John rolled his eyes. “Why am I not surprised?” His sister had always been fond of his ex – no doubt she had hoped to play matchmaker. She wasn’t one to let the fact that they had both decided they made much better friends than lovers a long time ago get in her way. His own fault, really: he had been rather evasive when she had asked him whether he was bringing a date to her wedding. She must have suspected his ‘boyfriend’ had been purely imaginary after all.

‘Sorry,’ Emma mouthed at him over Josh’s shoulder, her eyes darting in Bond’s direction.

Right. Bond. 

“Joshua, this is…”

“James Bond,” Josh interrupted him, his eyebrows disappearing in his hairline. Bond tensed, his hand creeping towards his gun and John inwardly groaned.

“And this is Joshua Mitchell,” he quickly added before Bond shot Josh. “Our MI5 liaison.”

“Fraternising with the enemy, Villiers?” Bond asked with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“How was Russia, Bond?” Joshua shot back just as coolly.

“Enough!” Villiers hissed and surprisingly both men shut up. “Josh, kitchen. You,” he pointed at Bond, “stay here.”

Bond opened his mouth to protest but Villiers cut him off. “Stay. Here.”

With that he turned on his heel and dragged Joshua to the kitchen, closing the door firmly behind them.

“So you and Bond, uh? Why didn’t I hear about that?” Josh asked teasingly, leaning back against the table.

“No, God no!” Villiers sighed, racking a hand through his hair. “M sent him along as my bodyguard. And he ended up playing my date.”

“Bodyguard – why? We didn’t hear anything over at 5.” Josh frowned, suddenly all business, and John tiredly gave him the short version of the last few days’ events.

“Jesus, John,” Josh said, shaking his head when he was finished. “You always –”

He never got to finish what he was saying. There was the sound of breaking glass and the next thing Villiers knew he was on the floor with a heavy weight on top of him, the air knocked out of him and seeing stars. A second later there was the screech of peeling tires and Bond burst into the room, gun in hand. He yanked Josh off him and kneeled at his side, checking him over.

“I’m fine,” John said irritably, batting his hands away. “And put your gun away, they’re gone and you’re going to scare everyone. Joshua?”

“I’m fine,” the other answered and John pushed himself to his feet, accepting Bond’s hand while curious people gathered in the doorway, his father pushing to the forefront.

“What happened here?” he asked, staring at the broken window.

“Someone threw a brick,” Bond said shortly. “We’ll need to print it,” he added to Joshua, who nodded.

“I’ll make a call.”

“Surely, that’s not necessary.” Villiers senior frowned. “Kids, these days…”

“You’re probably right, Dad,” John said in what he hoped was a soothing voice. It was hard to tell: he was more than a little freaked out himself, his heart slamming painfully against his ribcage from the adrenalin.

“Come on, they’ll handle this,” he added when it looked like his father might protest, guiding him out of the kitchen. 

A backward glance showed Bond and Joshua talking shop together, their differences put aside for now, and the sight made John feel slightly better.

 

The rest of the evening was rather subdued, the last of the guests filing out quickly. The ‘brick incident’ was referred to jokingly but it was clearly on everyone’s mind and Villiers felt increasingly guilty for disrupting his sister’s wedding. The kitchen’s window had been patched up with plastic and tape, a glaring reminder, and he was relieved when Emma went back to her own flat with her fiancé and his parents – at least she was out of harm’s way.

Even Bond seemed on edge, which didn’t help at all.

In the end his mother shooed them both to bed, making John feel ten years old all over again.

Until he found himself standing in front of his bed and remembered he was sharing with Bond. He swallowed, darting a glance in the other man’s direction. A faint smile was back on his face and the familiar sight made Villiers feel both relieved and vaguely anxious.

“I sleep naked,” Bond informed him and Villiers sputtered.

“No you don’t!”

Bond laughed.

“Actually I do. But I’ll make an exception for tonight.”

“Thank you.” It was too late though: his mind had already come with plenty of suggestions on what to do with a naked 007.

Not helping.

Villiers grabbed his things and fled to the bathroom.

So very not helping.

But at least it had taken his mind off things – maybe it was helping a little?

 

He was already in bed, the covers up to his chin when Bond finished his bedtime ablutions and came back into the room, dropping his clothes negligently on a chair.

“Last chance…” he teased with a grin before slipping under the covers. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

“I think I’ll live,” Villiers answered dryly.

They laid side by side in silence, a careful distance between them. Every once in a while a car would drive past the house and Villiers would tense, not relaxing until it was long gone.

“So. You and Mitchell, uh?” Bond finally said in the dark and Villiers shrugged.

“Isn’t it in my file?”

He could hear Bond’s unrepentant smile when he spoke again: “Sure, but it doesn’t say he’s MI5.”

“He wasn’t at the time.”

Silence, then:

“Do you really think the brick is connected to everything else?” Villiers asked quietly.

“We’re not sure,” Bond answered, the ‘we’ giving Villiers pause. “It wasn’t a professional move – a brick is hardly a precision weapon and it missed you by a mile. Still it’d be one hell of a coincidence if there was no connection at all.”

His mind whirling with thoughts Villiers laid awake for a long time, convinced he would never be able to find rest. Eventually though Bond’s steady breathing next to him lulled him to sleep, and when he next opened his eyes it was morning.

For a split second he forgot where he was, burying closer to the warm body next to him with a contented sigh – and realized he was sprawled half on top of Bond.

They were both hard.

And Bond seemed to be finding the situation quite amusing.

“Slept well?” he asked and Villiers practically leapt out of the bed, overturning a lamp in the process.

The crash was loud in the early morning stillness and Villiers cursed, caught between embarrassment and arousal.

“Your parents probably think we’re having sex right now,” Bond said as if commenting on the weather.

“Oh shut up!”

Back to the bathroom it was.

 

By 8am. the house had been invaded by Emma and her bridesmaids and the men lasted a valiant 30 minutes before beating a strategic retreat to distant parts of the house. For Villiers it was his bedroom, Bond trailing after him and he almost turned back but in the end being in close quarters with Bond seemed preferable to the madness happening downstairs.

He pulled out his laptop, intent on ignoring Bond, but when the man started making calls, Villiers found himself eavesdropping shamelessly.

“Any news?” he asked when Bond hung up and the other man shook his head.

“Lover boy says hello, though.”

John went back to pointedly ignoring him after that, doing his best to focus on his screen and not on the scene that kept replaying itself in his mind. 

After a while though the lack of sound coming from Bond alerted him that something was up. A silent Bond was never a good thing – in fact to his knowledge it meant bad things were about to happen. He looked up, expecting the worse, and found Bond flipping through one of his old photo albums gleefully.

Dear God.

Villiers closed his laptop rather abruptly and stood – there were compromising pictures in there! No way was he letting Bond look at them. 

Two words: baby pictures. 

Bond, however, didn’t seem inclined to relinquish his prize and Villiers was at a gross disadvantage, in both training and cunning. Soon Bond had him pinned down with one hand, the album held high over his head as he commented on Villiers’s birthday suit.

Villiers squirmed and tried to kick him off but to no avail and he had no choice but to wait for Bond to let him go. However the man seemed to be in no hurry to move and John was abruptly aware of the solid weight on top of him, of Bond’s hand splayed across his chest, of the way their thighs were pressed together where he was straddling his hips and… 

John’s tongue darted out to wet suddenly dry lips, Bond’s gaze flickering down to look at his mouth, and for a split second that seemed to last an eternity he thought Bond was going to kiss him – absurd, really – but instead he rolled off him and stood up, avoiding his eyes.

Villiers remained on the floor for a few seconds before pushing himself up and returning to his laptop, as far away from Bond as he could manage in the small space.

For once it looked like neither had anything clever to say.

 

Bond gave him a gun before they left for the church and was on high alert for the duration of the drive, scanning the roads for tails or ambushes. The switch from man to agent had once more been abrupt, so much that Villiers would have suspected he had a personality disorder was he not aware of the extensive psychological testing 00s underwent. Then again it was a source of never ending amazement that Bond had passed those tests in the first place so anything was possible.

Joshua met them outside the church and Bond threw him a dirty look but didn’t say anything. Most of the congregation was already inside awaiting the bride, and John kissed his sister on the cheek with a smile and a whispered _‘have fun’_. Her answering smile was huge and her _‘you’re next’_ both a tease and a threat. He rolled his eyes at her and let Bond usher him into the relative safety of the church.

They had barely made it past the front door when a commotion broke out outside and Villiers immediately back-tracked before Bond gripped his arm, holding him still.

“My sister is out there!” he hissed angrily, trying to pull away.

“M will kill me if anything happens to you,” Bond retorted, trying to keep his voice down as to not to alert the other guests.

“You can tell her I’ve knocked you unconscious!” 

Bond snorted.

“She’ll believe that.”

John opened his mouth to growl something back but Joshua suddenly appeared next to them.

“I think you should check this out,” he told them, looking rather amused by their bickering – obviously he had found the time to go outside and back while they were arguing.

Villiers shrugged Bond off – if Josh said it was okay then that was good enough for him – and found his sister yelling at a man who looked vaguely familiar, their father and the bridesmaids standing back with similar looks of disbelief on their faces.

“I can’t believe you would do this on my wedding day!” Emma was saying. “My wedding day!!”

“Emma…” the man stammered, wrenching his hands. “I thought we could give it another try; you know, you and me?”

“Stuart, we’re done! It’s been almost five years!”

Right. Old boyfriend – that was why he looked familiar.

“But I love you! When I heard you were getting married I thought…”

“You _thought_? What, that you’d show up on my wedding day and whisk me off my feet?” Emma’s voice had risen to an impressive pitch and she looked downright murderous. It probably didn’t help that from the look on the man’s face it was exactly what he had thought. “Wait a minute! Did you throw that brick through my parents’ window last night?”

“Hum…” he shuffled guiltily, suddenly finding his feet very interesting and Bond seemed to decide he had heard enough.

He grabbed the man and hauled him away with a charming smile directed at Emma.

“I’ll take care of that – you have a wedding to go to.”

Emma frowned and looked ready to yell some more but from within the church came the first notes of music and all the annoyance suddenly lifted from her face.

“We’ll be in in a minute,” John told his father and followed Bond and Josh.

 

It didn’t take long to get the whole story out of ‘Stuart’. His full name was Stuart Walker and he and Emma had dated for a while when they were both in college. She had broken things off between them and when his subsequent relationships hadn’t lasted long, he had attributed those failures to the fact that those women weren’t Emma, remaining persuaded that she was his soul mate. When he had found out she was getting married, it had been like his world had collapsed: he had sent her letters, hoping to make her see the truth, and when she hadn’t responded he had decided it was time to take action.

Kidnapping her brother had been his idea, he told them, his face getting animated as he shared his big plan with them. After all, Emma wouldn’t have gotten married without John there – and when Stuart would have ‘freed’ him and brought him home to his family, she would have realized what a great guy he was and that they were meant to be together. He had enrolled his stupid cousin’s help for the job and really it had been all his fault if the plan hadn’t worked!

Right…

As far as Villiers was concerned, he was pretty sure the man would benefit greatly from professional help. But it was a relief, in a way, to find out that there was no international conspiracy and no one after state secrets. That he hadn’t put his family at risk.

Walker looked genuinely confused when Bond asked him about the break-in – it looked like that had been a coincidence after all – and they handed him over to the agents who, Villiers found out, had been parked outside his parents’ house since the previous night.

Joshua excused himself – that traitor – and Bond and Villiers were left standing together in front of the church. 

“So. Thanks for that.” Villiers started, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I suppose you should get going…”

After all, this wasn’t Bond’s idea of a good time. He hadn’t even wanted to be here in the first place. And it wasn’t like _John_ wanted him to stay – or did he? True, he didn’t relish the idea of rejoining the ceremony sans boyfriend – Emma might just kill him. She liked Bond or whoever Bond had been pretending to be for the last 24 hours. He could always tell her the truth, he supposed, but then she would worry and his parents would worry, and they had had enough of that already.

“I have no plan for the rest of the week-end,” Bond said, startling him out of his thoughts. Villiers blinked at him, surprised: the man looked almost… tentative and that wasn’t a sight John was accustomed to.

“You’re sure? I mean, it’s okay if you want to leave, I’ll tell my family you had an emergency or something and –”

“John. Shut up.” Villiers closed his mouth with an audible click. “I’m staying.”

“Fine.”

He took Bond’s offered arm, a little dazed by this development, and together they made their way inside, sitting in the back pew and watching John’s sister get married.

It was a lovely ceremony – or at least that was what John would say later because truth be told? All he remembered was Bond’s solid presence at his side.

 

The reception was in full swing when Bond got roped into a ‘talk’ with John’s mother and left him alone for more than two minutes. Villiers watched the two with some trepidation – God only knew what she was telling him now – but was still glad for the respite as he tried to gather his thoughts.

Now that Bond had no legitimate reason for being there, things were surprisingly awkward in a way the entire charade hadn’t been. There was a tension between them now, one that hadn’t been there before – or maybe it had always been. Villiers was starting to wonder.

“So. You and Bond, uh?” Joshua said wryly and John snapped back to reality.

“He’s just doing me a favour,” he mumbled, his denial sounding feeble even to his own ears.

“From what I’ve heard about the guy, he doesn’t _do_ favours.”

“Yeah, he really doesn’t.” Villiers sighed, rubbing his face. “I’ve got no idea what’s going on.”

“Oh, I think you do,” Joshua said in a sing-song voice.

“And it’s a very bad idea,” Villiers shot back.

“Maybe. Maybe not. Give it a try and find out.”

“It’s _Bond_.”

“Yeah, well… He wouldn’t still be here if he didn’t like you at least a little. No offence, man, but braving your entire family just for a shag isn’t something someone like Bond would do.”

Villiers snorted. “Yours isn’t much better,” he said dryly and Joshua staggered, pressing a hand against his own chest.

“You wound me.” He grinned, lightening-fast, before turning serious again: “If he screws this up, you tell me. I know people too.”

“Thanks,” Villiers said, a genuine smile playing on his lips.

“Now, I would ask you to dance but I think your boyfriend might kill me if I did.” Joshua sounded amused and when John looked back he saw Bond stalking towards them, glaring.

Deciding it was time he took matters into his own hands, John stood just as Bond reached them.

“Want to dance?” he asked. 

Bond looked startled – no doubt he was used to doing the asking but it wouldn’t do for him to get too complacent – but then he seemed rather pleased, shooting Joshua a smug look and extending a hand for Villiers to take. He did and let himself be led to the dance floor.

The dance was a slow one and Bond didn’t lose any time pulling him close, his sister grinning at him over Bond’s shoulder from where she was dancing with her husband. John found himself smiling back, relaxing in Bond’s arms as they swayed to the music.

“Those dance lessons you took in college really paid off,” Bond commented eventually and John slapped his arm lightly.

“You’re impossible.”

“Nah…” Bond grinned, the corner of his eyes wrinkling. “Admit it, you think I’m irresistible.”

Villiers snorted inelegantly. “ _You_ think you’re irresistible. I think –”

Retrospectively, Bond kissing him wasn’t that much of a surprise, and neither was John kissing back.

John Villiers’s week had just gotten a lot better.

By Sunday evening it would have improved even more.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at my livejournal.


End file.
